


Bonfire Night

by Ampithoe



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, But it's slow given that context, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, I mean it's not super long, Intelligent Simon Snow, M/M, Showers, Slow Burn, Watford Eighth Year
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:34:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28373223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ampithoe/pseuds/Ampithoe
Summary: I don't know why I say this next thing, but I'm just so tired of dealing with him. “I'm dating someone else.”“Who!? Is it Baz!? I'll bloody kill him!”I open my mouth but can't find anything to say and I know he's about to run off (or go off) and I'm panicking. I guess Penny can tell, because she lifts her chin, takes my hand, and says “It's me. She's dating me.”
Relationships: Penelope Bunce/Agatha Wellbelove, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 20
Kudos: 94
Collections: Secret Snowflake 2020





	Bonfire Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aralias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias/gifts).



> Okay, let's suppose that it's eighth year, but there are no Visitings and no numpties. Simon and Penny didn't get sucked away by the Humdrum and Agatha didn't find Baz feeding in the woods, or hold his hands while Simon and Penny looked on. The students are free to get on with the business of being teenagers: love, longing, jealousy, hurt, confusion...
> 
> I was so excited (and maybe a bit intimidated) when I got [@aralias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aralias) as my recipient. I've looked up to her ever since I entered this fandom. She writes great fics, she writes great metas, and she writes great comments. She's a kind and friendly person and has been very supportive of my writing, so I really, really wanted to do right by her. 
> 
> Her prompts included canonverse, eighth year, fake dating, Snowbaz, and Penny/Agatha. I stirred that up in the cauldron of my brain and this is what I came up with. I hope you like it, aralias!

**AGATHA**

I'm walking towards the Weeping Tower with Penny when Simon comes up to me and says, “Agatha, we need to talk!” Which he's been doing multiple times per day since I broke up with him two weeks ago.

“No, Simon, we don't. I'm tired of talking.” And Penny and I keep walking. But nothing can stop him — ever — and he hurries alongside us.

“Ags, please! We can fix this!”

“Simon, there's nothing left to fix.” I don't know why I say this next thing, but I'm just so tired of dealing with him. “I'm dating someone else.”

“Who!? Is it Baz!? I'll bloody kill him!”

I'm a little freaked out. Simon fighting with Baz is nothing new, but he's white with fury, with greenwood smoke pouring off him, and I think this could be very bad. 

I open my mouth but can't find anything to say and I know he's about to run off (or go off) and I'm panicking. I guess Penny can tell, because she lifts her chin, takes my hand, and says “It's me. She's dating me.”

It stops Simon in his tracks. His mouth hangs open and his eyes are wide; his colour becomes a bit more normal and the smoke starts to clear. His astonishment gives me a moment to string some words together. “I'm sorry, Simon. I should have found a gentler way to tell you. But I hope you and I can still be friends... I mean, Penny's your best friend, right? So we can still all hang out together. When you're ready.”

Simon looks at me, and then at Penny. “But you... But she... I have to go.” He strides towards Mummers House. I'm still worried about him confronting Baz, but at least he's not verging on going off like he was before. He slows down as he goes, as if he's calming down or thinking something out, and I heave a sigh of relief.

I turn to Penny. “Thank you. I didn't know how else to stop him going after Baz, and with him in that mood, I don’t know what would have happened. I don't want either of them to get hurt over this, and I was even afraid that he might be upset enough to violate the Anathema... anyway, thank you.”

“I didn't want Simon to get himself into trouble either, plus it's high time he left you alone. He's really been ridiculously stubborn about this. Let's go to your room and make a plan to make this convincing.”

Of course Penny needs to make a plan. I'm sure there will be a chart with columns and an action plan with bullet points. But she's probably right — she wouldn't be nearly so annoying if she wasn't right so often, and besides, she did help me out — so we head for the Cloisters together, still holding hands.

**BAZ**

I'm at my desk working through a Latin translation exercise (very straightforward, ho hum) when Snow stalks into the room. He's stiff with emotion held in check as he leans up against his desk, crosses his arms, and glares in my direction.

“Have you done something to Agatha?” he demands.

I look back down at my book as I answer him. “I haven't done anything to, for, or with Wellbelove. I’ve never had the least interest in her.” It's quite true. She is nothing to me but a means to irritate Snow. He's through the roof about something to do with her right now, but for once, it really isn't something I've done.

“Then why is she acting so strange? She said she was dating Penny, for Merlin's sake.”

“Did she? Bunce is a bright, attractive girl and I think Wellbelove could do much worse. Perhaps she has some taste after all. But it's nothing to do with me.”

“Isn't it? You could have cast some kind of spell on her. Something to make her go crazy.”

“I assure you that I haven't. And why would I? I'm not interested in her, although you've never believed that. But if I was interested, why would I use my dastardly spells to drive her into Bunce's arms when I could pull her into my own? You can't have it both ways.”

He pushes himself off the desk and starts pacing the room, eating up the distance in great strides. I’ve been trying to maintain an air of nonchalance, but I can’t stop myself looking at him, both because he is a glorious sight to see and in order to have some warning if he’s going to go off. He’s pulling at his hair and his lips are working, as if he has five conflicting ideas and can’t decide which one to give voice to. He finally stops back at his desk and pivots to face me. “If you don't care about Agatha, I want you to prove it to me.”

“And how do you intend for me to do that?”

“If this isn't your fault, then they're just doing it to mess with me. Well, let’s call their bluff. I want you to date me.”

I open my mouth, but find that I am actually speechless for what feels like a very long time but is probably only 10,000 years. Or half a minute. I can't tell. 

Finally, I find some words. “You want me to what?”

“Date me. I mean, not date me,  _ pretend _ to date me.” 

I would, of course, love to date Simon Snow; indeed, my daydreams concern little else. But to pretend to date him, in some crazy ploy to manipulate his ex-girlfriend? That would obliterate my self-respect.

“All right.”

**AGATHA**

Back in my room, Penny casts  **see what I mean** and throws up the heading  _ Dating Plan: Goals. _

“Okay,” she begins. “What are we trying to achieve here?”

“All I wanted to do was get Simon to leave me alone, and we've done that.”

“Yes, but for how long? If we tell him it was a ruse, he'll be really annoyed, and he'll go right back to pestering you.”

“Are you suggesting that we keep pretending? He's your best friend. He'll be really hurt. He’s already miserable enough at my having broken up with him. I won’t get back together with him, but I don’t want to make it worse.”

“Well, he's going to have to get over that. He's been entirely unreasonable about you for ages. He neglected you terribly when you were dating, and now that you've asserted your independence, he won't leave you alone. What kind of feminists would we be if we let that fly?”

“I don't think I'm any sort of feminist at all, actually. I just want to live my life.”

“Oh, hush. Of course you're a feminist.” I sputter, but she continues, “I want to show him how a respectful, attentive partner acts. That way when this is over, maybe he'll have learnt something.” And under goals go two items: 

_ S leaves A alone _

_ S sees what a good partner looks like _

Oh, goody. My love life is going to be all for the benefit of Simon Snow even now that we've broken up.

**BAZ**

I straighten the papers on my desk to give myself a chance to think. This scheme is pretty hare-brained, and I have no idea how long it will last, but I expect it to be titillating and excruciating by turns. I need to set some ground rules, though, and I can see some benefits beyond the most obvious. I look at him and say, “This will have to mean some changes.”

“Like what?”

“If we want people to believe we're dating, we'll have to stop all public acts of aggression, physical and verbal both. You can't go around accusing me of being a vampire, and I suppose I'll have to stop working you into a froth. A truce of sorts.” 

“Stop accusing you of what we both know is true? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Well, yes; that’s why I suggested it. I’m sure you’ll miss your favorite sport of stalking me, but that’s my price. I will assist you by pretending to date you, including being civil to you in public, for up to a month, and in exchange you will stop harassing me. We can swear it with magic, if you like.”

He scowls, but extends one hand towards me while fumbling for his wand with the other.

“Allow me,” I say, taking his hand and sliding out my own wand.  **“** **_A gentleman's word is his bond._ ** **”**

**AGATHA**

By the time we're done, the air in my room is crowded with words:

_ Dating Plan _

_ Goals _

_ S leaves A alone _

_ S sees what a good partner looks like _

_ Time Span: re-evaluate in one month _

_ Techniques: _

_ hand holding _

_ time together  _

_ flowers _

_ favours _

_ manicures _

_ coffee dates _

_ Limits: _

_ no tongues _

I insisted on the manicures. If I'm going to go along with this plan of Penny's, she needs to let me do her nails the Normal way — and I can make them match mine, to increase the illusion that we’re dating.

**BAZ**

“Come on, let's go to dinner,” says Simon.

“What are you talking about?”

“We're dating, so we go to dinner together.”

I roll my eyes but follow him out the door.

Once we arrive at the dining hall, Snow heaps his plate high with food as usual. I just take a glass of water. “Why aren't you eating anything?” he asks.

“Please don't question that. Consider it part of the truce.”

“Fine,” he huffs. He makes his way over to an empty table and I follow him. We sit, and he starts shovelling food into his gaping maw while staring at something across the room. Following his gaze, I see Bunce and Wellbelove with their heads together, talking animatedly. Is it possible that they really are dating? Suddenly, Simon slams his hand down on top of mine.

“What's that all about, Snow?”

“Penny just took Agatha's hand, so I'm taking yours.”

“Well, you're holding it like it's done something horrible to you. Try being a bit more gentle, if you want anyone to believe this charade. Hold it like you would... I don't know, hold a kitten.”

“I've never held a kitten.”

“Okay, a puppy? A fuzzy, newly hatched chick?”

“How about a baby goat? I've held a baby goat.”

I sigh. “Fine. Treat my hand the way you would treat a baby goat.” And suddenly, instead of an intense grip that channels all his anger and frustration at Wellbelove, his hand is gentling mine, wrapped around it, warm and secure, his thumb skating across my knuckles. I'm on fire. I want him to touch me everywhere with that same tenderness — my face, my hair, further down... I can't breathe. 

“How's that?” he asks.

I take a deep draught of water. “Better."

**SIMON**

I kind of like holding Baz's hand. A few minutes ago I was just looking at Agatha holding hands with Penny and seething, but this is... nice. His hand is cool — I guess that's because he's a vampire, but I'm not allowed to say anything about that because of our truce. His skin is very soft and smooth. That could be another vampire thing (I suddenly realise that for all my accusations against Baz, I know fuck-all about vampires) but it's probably just all those stupid skin care products.

Anyway, I'm sitting there, feeling how smooth his skin is and seeing if I can warm his hand up, when Dev comes over. “What in the name of Crowley are you two doing?”

Baz looks at him coolly. “We're holding hands. I would have thought that would be obvious.”

“I could tell that, thanks. But —  _ why?  _ Have you lost it?”

I lift my chin up and look right at Dev. “We're dating.”

He blinks. “You're... dating.”

Baz answers him this time. We're taking turns, almost like we had worked this out in advance. Like we're a team. “Yes, we're dating. You may congratulate us, if you like.”

“But you two hate each other. Have done since first year. Have been at each other's throats and making each other miserable the whole time.”

My turn. “I guess we were just covering up the depth of our feelings for each other.” 

Baz freezes for a moment, then speaks. “That's right, Dev. We've been pining for each other in secret for years.”

“Yeah, sure.” Dev shakes his head and walks away. The moment his back is turned, Baz snatches his hand back.

**PENNY**

After I'm done charting out our plans — Agatha isn't a very active participant — she insists on doing my nails. It's part of her price for the arrangement, so I let her. I assumed she would just paint on some polish, but this involves a half a dozen different substances and a whole arsenal of tools.

“Couldn't we just do this with magic?” I ask. “There must be spells. What about  **Tough as nails** _? _ Is that a spell?”

“It’s not just about having fancy nails. It's about spending time together. Girl time. Also, 'is that a spell?' is not an inspiring question, especially for something you're thinking of casting on a person. What colour do you want?”

She has at least a dozen different polishes. I choose a vibrant purple, and then she starts to rub lotion into my hands. I have to admit that it feels pretty nice, although this is time that could be better spent on studying. I start thinking about my homework for tomorrow.

Suddenly Agatha is jiggling my hand to get my attention back. “I said, are you going to tell Micah that you're pretending to date someone else?”

I sigh. “I don't need to. He broke up with me over the summer. When I was there in Chicago. It was awful.” I want to go away and put my head in a book, but she's got my hand and isn't letting go.

“I'm sorry, I didn't know that. I guess we can be each other's rebound person.” She huffs a mirthless laugh.

“You  _ wanted _ to be single — why would you need a rebound person?’

“I didn’t necessarily want to be single. I just didn’t want to be with Simon any more. Like you said, he took me for granted. I think I was more of an idea he had than a person to him, really. I’d be happy to be with someone who was with me for  _ me _ .” She leans forward slightly and opens her mouth as if she’s got something more to say, but then she straightens up and goes back to shaping my nails. 

**SIMON**

I'm angry at Penny. If she's dating Agatha, I'm angry because she's dating my ex-girlfriend who just broke up with me. If she's not dating Agatha, I'm angry about the lie. We've always had a “no secrets” pact. You would think that means “no lies,” wouldn't you? But I also miss her, so when I see her in the Elocution classroom, I walk over to her. I don't know what to say, so I just say, “Hey.”

“Hi Simon!” She seems genuinely happy to see me. 

I shift from one foot to the other, uncertain where to take this. She's fiddling with her pen and notebook — maybe I'm not the only one who's feeling uncomfortable — and I'm astonished to see that her fingernails are hard, shiny ovals of Watford purple. I have never seen her with anything like that before. “You painted your nails?”

“Oh, that. Agatha did them for me. It's not my thing, usually, but she wanted to, so I let her.”

“So you still say you're dating her?” 

“Yes, we're dating. We had dinner together last night, and we're going into town together for coffee this afternoon.”

“Well, I'm dating Baz. Just so you know.” I suddenly feel his eyes on me from the other side of the room and I give him an awkward little wave.

Her eyebrows draw together and her mouth opens, but nothing comes out at first. “You're... dating Baz? Baz  _ Pitch _ ? Your roommate, who you have fought with, stalked, and insulted the entire time you’ve known him?  _ That _ Baz?” 

“Yes.” I feel like I need to justify myself a bit because she’s right, Baz and I have never been at all friendly. “I’ve suddenly seen him in a new light. We might go to the pub after classes today.” I haven't asked him yet, but I could ask, and he might say yes — he did promise to help. So I'm not technically lying, exactly. But it doesn't feel great to just be “not technically lying, exactly” to my best friend, even when I'm really annoyed at her.

I'm searching for something else to say when Agatha comes and sits down next to Penny, and that's just more than I can cope with all at once. I move across the room and sit down next to Baz.

“Let's go to the pub after classes.”

“Oh, are they going?” he asks, inclining his head towards Penny and Agatha.

“They're going out for coffee, actually. Why?”

“Well, that's what this is all about, isn't it? Keeping up with the Wellbelove-Bunces?” There's an odd twist in his voice that I don't quite understand. This is all a response to their little game and he's known that from the start.

“I guess. Will you come?”

“Fine.”

**AGATHA**

When I walk into Elocution, I see that Simon is standing by Penny’s seat, looking a little awkward. I guess I should sit with her if I’m supposed to be dating her. I go over to where they are, and I’m ready to say hi to Simon, but he leaves before I get a chance to. I sit and lean over towards Penny. “What was that about?”

“First he wanted to know if I was really dating you, and then he told me that he’s dating Baz.”

“He’s  _ what? _ ”

“That’s what he said. There’s no way that’s true. It’s just some kind of posturing in response to us dating.”

I shake my head.  _ “Boys _ ,” I say.

Penny nods. “ _ Boys _ . And more particularly,  _ Simon _ . I doubt Baz is going to go along with it. Can you imagine?”

I look over my shoulder to the far corner of the room. “Well, they’re sitting together, and I’ve never seen that happen before. Of course, Simon always used to sit with you.” Penny presses her lips together, looking pained. Madam Bellamy calls the class to order before I can say anything more.

**BAZ**

I come back from my last class and find Simon in our room. “Finally!” he cries. “Okay, let’s go.”

“Let's go?”

“To the pub, remember?”

“Give me a few minutes to shower and change.” I open my wardrobe and select a lilac button-up and navy trousers.

“You're going to change? What for?”

“I'm not going to go out for a drink in my school uniform.”

“Why not? It looks nice on you.”

I roll my eyes. Simon shouldn't be allowed out alone. “Nice clothes depend on the context. At Watford, we look like the sophisticated eighth years that we are. Or at least, I look sophisticated; you look like... you.”

“Hey! We're on a truce here.”

“The terms of which are that I have to be civil to you  _ in public _ . I was most precise. As I was saying, here we look mature and experienced. In the pub we'd look like schoolboys on a day out.”

“We  _ are _ schoolboys on a day out!”

“Perhaps, but we don't want to be seen that way, or at least I don't.” 

“You do what you want. I'm proud to go to Watford, and these are the nicest clothes I own.”

I raise an eyebrow. (He finds it maddening, since he can’t control his independently.) “You're going to wear your school uniform on a date. With me.”

“It's that or trackies, and not very new trackies at that. Or pyjamas, I guess. So, yes, I am.”

I stop and think. I really don't want to look like a kid, but Snow's right, everything he owns that's not his uniform is thoroughly disreputable. It would be nice to see him in something better, actually. I set my own outfit on my bed and chose a few more items with Simon in mind: a pair of muted brown trousers, a navy button-up, and a blue jumper that will set his eyes off perfectly. If I'm going to be sat across from him in the pub, wishing that I were on a real date and not a spite-fest, at least I can see him dressed to set off his good looks. I hand the stack to Simon.

“Have you gone mad? Your clothes would never fit me.”

I take out my wand and tap the clothing. “ **_Fits like a glove_ ** **.** There, you try that while I get cleaned up.” And with that, I vanish into the en suite.

**SIMON**

I stand there, speechless, while he goes off to shower. I don't want to wear his clothes like I'm some kind of charity case, and I don't appreciate the idea that he doesn't want to be seen with me the way I usually look. But on the other hand, if Penny or Agatha sees me in his clothes – well, isn't that a couple thing, wearing the other person's clothes? That should convince them that we're dating.

Baz's magic is good, of course, so everything fits perfectly. The jumper smells faintly of him – those mingled scents that Penny says are cedar and bergamot, and something else that doesn't come from a bottle but that I would know anywhere. I want to know how I look, but the only mirror is in the bathroom. I shove my uniform into my wardrobe and throw myself down on my bed to wait for Baz – he spends an awful lot of time fussing with his appearance even though he's already so good looking. Tosser.

I don’t really know why I asked him to do this, actually. It would probably have made more sense to ask a girl. Did I pick a guy because Penny and Agatha are a same-sex “couple”? Even if that’s it, I could have chosen a guy I actually get along with, like Rhys or Gareth. I mean, Baz and I have been fighting basically since we met. That’s not going to make it easy to convince people that we’re going out.  _ Am _ I even trying to convince anybody, though? The main point is to show Penny and Agatha that I’m on to them and they can’t get to me. Anything they can do, I can do right back at them. 

On the other hand, Baz is the fittest bloke at school. Agatha’s the most beautiful girl, fit and athletic, blonde and full of light. Being with her made me feel like I was clean and untouchable, too. Baz is kind of the boy Agatha. He’s got a coolness to him too, and dark hair and grey skin, and he’s smooth and elegant in everything he does. He’s a vampire, of course, but the Anathema protects me in the room, and now our truce will protect me everywhere else. That’s handy, actually.

**BAZ**

When I come back out, Snow is sprawled casually across his bed, dressed in my clothes and looking good enough to eat. I'm obsessed with him in any setting, at any time, even in sagging trackies and an old t-shirt. (All right, maybe  _ especially _ then, because his muscles are exposed by the sag and the tightness across the chest, but I digress.) (Frequently.) But dressed in well-made clothing that suits him – well, I'd be proud to be seen with him anywhere. Including, I suppose, the pub on the road into town. “Come on, Snow. I'd like to be back in time to do some revision before dinner.”

“What, you can't wait to be done with me?” he asks, getting up from the bed.

_ I'll never be done with you, Snow. _ “I'm doing you a favour to prove some kind of point to your ex-girlfriend. The least you can do is try to accommodate my study schedule.”

He rolls his eyes and we leave the room together.

As we pass the White Chapel, I see Bunce and Wellbelove on the path ahead of us, hand in hand. Snow sees them, too – he jabs me with his elbow and says “Hey, you made me change. They're in their uniforms!” Which they are — both wearing pleated skirts and knee socks, Bunce wearing a cape and Wellbelove a red school jumper. They carry themselves very differently — Wellbelove moves with an athlete's grace while Bunce scurries along beside her on short, plump legs.

“Then they must not mind looking like schoolgirls. I stand by my choice.”

“Oi! Penny, Agatha, wait up!” he calls, taking my hand as he does so. He's got a nice hold this time, neither limp nor overly firm. I enjoy the feel of his fingers lacing between mine, but cringe inwardly in the knowledge that it's all to prove a point to someone else and nothing at all to do with me. The girls pause and turn, looking at us and waiting. 

We come up to them, and Wellbelove looks Snow up and down. “You look good, Simon. You never dressed up like that to go out with me.”

“Well, Baz was very insistent, plus he loaned me the clothes.”

“I couldn’t really have done that! I guess it’s a perk of same-sex dating.”

“Yes,” I say. “We’re all just happy same sex couples together now. How chummy.” I’m afraid a bit of bitterness creeps into my tone. So far as I know, all three of them are straight and have only engaged in this bizarre charade for reasons of ego and pique. Whenever they get over their nonsense, they’ll be able to go back to heterosexual perks, which are still substantially greater than queer perks, even in the twenty-first century. 

Simon looks at me with a little frown line between his eyebrows, like he’s caught my tone and it worries him. Whether it’s because of that or the sheer desire to out-couple the girls, he puts his arm around my waist. I stiffen momentarily and then decide I might as well enjoy this while I can and put my arm around him as well. Not to be outdone, Bunce puts her arm around Wellbelove’s waist. Wellbelove is a comical five inches taller than Bunce, so she drapes her arm over her companion’s shoulders rather than around her waist. We’re all just sort of looking at each other until Wellbelove says brightly, “Well! Shall we get going?” and we all start walking again.

It’s desperately physically awkward, because it’s honestly not so easy to walk with your arm around your companion. Both pairs are mismatched for height, and therefore for stride, and the path is not really  _ quite _ wide enough for four people to walk abreast, even if each couple is smashed up together like a team in a three-legged race.

It’s socially awkward as well, of course. Simon’s angry at both of the girls, and they’re both somewhere between bemused and mystified by Simon going out with me, and no one is saying anything about any of it, or indeed anything at all. I’m tempted to just be an amused onlooker, but my parents raised me better than that.

“So, you ladies are bound for the coffee shop?”

Wellbelove has the same sort of social inculcation as me and picks up from there. “Yes, we thought it would be a nice change from the school tea. I think Pen said you’re headed for the pub?”

“Yes, that’s right. It seems a bit more jolly than coffee.”

We continue to talk about nothing in particular as we walk through the inner gates, across the drawbridge (I curl my lip at the merwolves), then the Great Lawn, and through the outer gates. I take advantage of opening and closing the gate to switch Snow and myself from arms-on-waists to handholding. I’ve been greatly enjoying his warmth but it’s just not a practical or comfortable way to cover ground, and the pub’s nearly a mile away. I don’t need to be caught up in this relationship arms race of Snow’s.

**SIMON**

We reach the pub and say goodbye to Pen and Ags – the coffee shop is further along, properly in the outskirts of town rather than just at the roadside like the pub. Inside feels a little stuffy to me after the fresh air of the open road. I look around – I haven’t been to pubs much. Ags and I didn’t go on a lot of dates, really, and I don’t get the chance during the summers. Baz seems completely at home (doesn’t he always?) and says, “You get a table and I’ll get our drinks. What would you like?” I ask for a cider – I don’t like beer much; it’s too bitter for me. I pick a cosy looking booth and wait for him.

He joins me soon enough, carrying my cider and a glass of white wine for himself. He sets the drinks on the table and slides in across from me.

“Thanks,” I tell him. 

“Think nothing of it, Snow. The least I can do for my date.” There’s that odd tone again. Is he not happy about doing this? Well, I guess there’s no reason he would be. I kind of prodded him into the agreement, and since we swore it with magic there’s no easy way out before the month is up. He raises his glass. “Cheers.”

I match his toast and take a sip. “So, like, thanks for doing this, Baz.”

“I’d say there’s no need to thank me, but actually, I’m putting myself out for you a bit. I look forward to seeing how you’ll make it up to me.” He takes a sip of his wine and looks at me with a superior air. Git.

“Is it really that unpleasant?”

“Oh, it’s tolerable. And it’s somewhat amusing watching the dynamics as they try to one-up us on togetherness. It’s like a strange new sport. I wonder whether the rest of the school will notice, and whether people will start taking bets.”

“It might be kind of hard to get everyone to agree on who the winners were,” I point out.

He makes a noise of agreement and lifts his glass again. Without thinking about it, I reach across the table for his free hand.

“They’re not here, you know, nor anyone from school. There’s no need to keep up appearances.”

“Yeah, I know. I guess I just felt like it,” I say. Baz tilts his head and looks at me curiously. “Besides, it’s good practice.” That seems to satisfy him, but I let go anyway. 

We finish our drinks in awkward silence and then stand to go – we need to get back to school so he can do his precious revision. I guess I’ll do some sword practice, get out some of my frustration at Ags and Pen’s ridiculous antics.

Before heading for the door, I say, “Wait up for a minute, would you? I need the toilet.” Baz just nods his head, so I go on in. I don’t actually need to piss or anything; I just want to see how I look. The person I see in the mirror startles me. He looks classy, casual but well-dressed. This guy could totally be on a date with Baz.

And this guy is me. 

**AGATHA**

Simon and Baz go into the pub, and we keep walking. I like having my arm across Penny’s shoulders like this. She’s this cuddly armful, kind of like a puppy. 

We turn onto the street where the coffee shop is, and I drag her to a stop in front of the newsagent’s. “Hang on, I want to go in here first.” I’m a little worried that she’s going to judge me for my purchases, but I’m just done with dating people who have ideas about who I should be.

I pick out four different fashion magazines and turn to take them up to the till. Penny starts in on me. “Do you really need to give the fashion industry money to tell you how you should look?” 

I knew it.

I stop and look at her. “Do you really think that I look like this because some magazine executive told me to? I  _ like _ how I look. I  _ like _ sleek, stylish jewelry and cute outfits. I  _ like _ getting ideas for new things to try. I even like looking at ridiculous, high-fashion clothes and hairstyles that I would never want to wear. And if you don’t like those things, that’s completely fine. But please don’t act like I’m some kind of corporate shill because of how I express myself.” She looks at me with her mouth hanging open and for once she doesn’t have anything to say.

**Penny**

Later that evening, Agatha and I are eating dinner together when Simon and Baz approach our table.

Simon asks, “Can we sit here?” in an almost pugnacious tone and then plonks himself down before we can answer. We would have said yes, anyhow, because we do still both want to be his friend despite the current weirdness. Baz sits next to him – more gracefully and less abruptly. I mean, he’s Baz, so of course he’s graceful.

I take Agatha’s hand in my free one. Baz puts his arm across Simon’s shoulders. Are they going to respond to every single move we make? This could be fascinating. I lean a bit towards Agatha. “Sweetie, would you pass the salt?” She looks at me dryly as she does so. What’s Simon’s next move?

“Baz, darling, could I look at your Political Science notes after dinner? I’m kind of muddled about some of the concepts.” He had an odd look on his face when he said that; I think he couldn’t quite believe he was saying, “Baz, darling.” 

“Certainly, love.” Baz pats Simon’s shoulder fondly. Or apparently fondly. It’s so weird to see them together like this. For years they were always physically fighting, then it was more a question of keeping their distance and saying catty things. They’re stiff and awkward in this performative affection.

I nudge my chair over closer to Agatha’s so that I feel her muscular thigh against my softer one. Simon couldn’t get much closer to Baz without sitting in his lap, so I’m not sure what he’s going to do next. 

**BAZ**

This is so strange. On the one hand, I’m completely free to touch Snow, to call him love, to be as sweet as I want. In public, anyway, and particularly when we’re around either Bunce or Wellbelove. And he feels good and he smells good and he’s warm and solid and I’m indulging myself and enjoying it. But on the other hand, all this touch and sweetness means nothing, and it will be gone in less than a month. Well, carpe diem, and carpe roommate. 

Then there’s the more abstract intellectual pleasure of watching the gamesmanship, the endless one-upping. Bunce has just pushed herself up against Wellbelove’s side, and with my arm already around Snow there’s not much that he can do to advance in the physical realm. So, he takes a different tack. He stands up, saying, “I’ll be right back.” As my arm slides down off his shoulder he captures my hand and gives it a squeeze. His hand is strong and callused from hours of sword work. 

While I wait for his return, I ask Bunce, “Have you started work on your eighth year spell yet?” I’m not sure whether I’m making conversation or checking out the competition. Or maybe I just relish the chance to talk to Bunce – she is very bright, and it’s good to be able to talk magickal theory with someone of her calibre. Our paths haven’t crossed that much historically, what with the advanced antipathy between me and Snow.

“I’ve chosen a phrase and started working with it. What about you?”

I open my mouth to reply, but I’m stopped by a touch on my shoulder. I look up and see that Snow is back and looking down into my eyes – I gaze up into blue, blue, blue. He smiles at me and sets two biscuits down by my teacup – and a good half dozen on the edge of his own plate. I’m sure he knows I won’t eat them, at least not here, but it’s being seen to make the gesture that counts the most in this unspoken competition. Also, this way he may get two extra biscuits, so that’s a win-win for him. And so help me, even knowing it’s an empty gesture, having him bring me a little something and gift it to me while smiling down into my eyes warms my heart a bit – but the warmth turns to a chill the next moment as I remember it’s not real.

He sits down beside me, sliding up against my side, as I return to my conversation with Bunce. “I’m not sure about a phrase yet. I had thought of Shakespeare – it’s got such deep power – but it’s been heavily mined over. Things that have endured from the past have usually been tested pretty thoroughly. But you never know – a new interpretation, and therefore a new intention in casting, might reveal potential that previous mages didn’t find.”

“Exactly!” she cries, excited at the meeting of minds. “And on the other hand, newer phrases haven’t been so exhaustively researched, but it’s so hard to tell what’s going to really last and what’s going to vanish from the culture in a year or five.”

Snow shifts restlessly in his seat – I suppose he’s not very interested in theory, or we might be making him uncomfortable due to the unpredictability of his magic. “Are we boring you, love?” 

“Not really. I just don’t have my phrase picked yet. What about you, Agatha?”

“I was thinking of  **Shut Up and Dance with Me** _. _ ”

Penny looks at her. “What’s that from?”

Agatha rolls her eyes. “It’s only been on the Billboard chart since April.”

“A pop song?” asks Penny, sounding slightly shocked. “That won’t last long at all.”

“I’m not trying to change the World of Mages, just meet my graduation requirements. And I think it could be a lot of fun!” 

“If it’s not deemed an illegal coercion spell,” I contribute. “You probably shouldn’t try it on anyone without their explicit consent.”

“I don’t enchant people without their permission. Do you?” she says, rather pointedly.

I open my mouth to reply, but Snow beats me to it. “Of course he doesn’t!”

Well.

Our oath prevents Snow from running me down in public – I’ve gone two whole days without being accused of vampirism, hooray! – but I wasn’t expecting him to actually  _ defend _ me. But I suppose that since Bunce just practically derided her “girlfriend’s” choice of project, he gets bonus points for being a supportive “boyfriend.”

_ Are _ we using the words “boyfriend” and “girlfriend”? I haven’t heard either word spoken out loud, just “dating”. And I don’t know how that terminology negotiation goes in a real relationship (never having been in one), let alone a fake one.

This month has the potential to drive me to distraction, but if I could survive more than seven years of sleeping mere feet away from Snow, I can survive a month of fond touches, little favours, and pet names.

Probably.

**PENNY**

I’ve started spending more time in Agatha’s room. She’s not thrilled with it, but she’s tolerating it while we’re pretending to date. It’s neat and tidy and quiet (she hasn’t had a roommate since Philippa lost her voice and had to leave). It’s a blessed break from the true-love pixie dust chaos that Trixie and Keris make in my room.

I stop in on my way to breakfast to see if she’ll walk over with me and find her making her bed. By hand.

“Why are you doing that? Here, let me,” I say, extending my ring towards her bed.

“No, don’t! I like doing it this way.”

I watch as she tucks in the sheets, smooths out the duvet, and plumps the pillow. She moves with grace, poise, and efficiency, like she does everything. Her pale blonde hair falls down in a shining sheet as she leans over to do the work, hiding her pink-white cheek for a few moments.

“Why don’t you like to do things with magic?” I ask. “You’ve got the power, and I’m sure you know how.”

“You sound like my mother. She’s obsessed with power and wants me to take an interest in magic. I have my own interests.”

I don’t know how to respond to that, and she’s done with the bed, so I say, “Breakfast?”

“Yes, sure.” She picks up her shoulder bag and heads towards the door.

“I thought if Simon was there I’d fill your plate for you.”

She stops dead and spins to face me. “Stop that!”

“Stop what?” I ask cautiously.

“Doing this only as a show for Simon, treating me the way you want Simon to see you treat me. I don’t want to be his object lesson any more than I wanted to be his happy ending. Treat me the way you think I  _ should  _ be treated. Better yet, do some work to figure out how I  _ want _ to be treated and do that! I’ll eat breakfast by myself today, thanks.” She stalks out the door without looking back.

What does she want from me? How should I figure out how she wants to be treated? 

I don’t have a lot in common with Agatha. She’s not even that interested in magic… what was it she said?  _ I have my own interests. _ And I didn’t even ask what they were, just changed the subject to putting on a show for Simon. I’m an idiot. No wonder she blew up.

I haven’t done this before, not really. When Micah and I first dated, we were kids. And we were enthusiastic about all the same things – magic, languages, elocution. He would tell me about America, and I would explain things about the British World of Mages, and it just  _ worked. _ But at some point between then and this past summer, things stopped working, and I didn’t even notice until I got to Chicago, all excited to see him, and the first thing he did was break up with me. So what do I know about relationships? And who can I even ask how to do this?

At breakfast, I see that Agatha is eating with Trixie and Keris – probably because she knows I won’t want to join them. She’s not in my morning classes today (Political Science and Greek), and I don’t see her at lunch. In fact, I don’t set eyes on her again until Elocution. After class, I ask her, “Could we talk?”

“I have lacrosse practice now.”

“Well, could I come watch?” If I’m trying to find out about her interests, this seems as good a way to start as any. I spent enough time watching football practice with Simon when he was stalking Baz. (I wonder if he’s started going again now that they’re “dating.”)

“If you like. I need to stop by my room to change.”

“I should grab a library book so I can do some work while I sit in the stands. See you there?”

It takes a little while to find the book I want – it had been mis-shelved, so I finally find it with  **Fine-tooth comb** – so practice is well under way when I finally arrive at the pitch. I see Agatha running up the field, dodging this way and that around a series of obstacles that the coach has set up. She’s holding a lacrosse stick and swinging it back and forth across her body as she goes. Her hair is tied back in a simple ponytail. Her cheeks are red with exertion and her brow wrinkled in concentration, a degree of focus that I haven’t seen her apply to her classwork. I pick up my book and start reading thoughtfully.

I spend the afternoon there. I start reading my book, but I keep looking up to watch this new, fierce, fully engaged Agatha. She moves with power and precision and is going full-out all the time. I’ve never seen her like this, not holding herself back. She just flings herself into the drills or the thick of the scrimmage. The coach calls on her to lead some of the drills, which I guess means she’s good at this (she certainly looks skilled to me, but I don’t really know anything about it). Soon enough, the book is on the bench beside me and I’m just watching.

When practice is finally done, she comes over to me, grinning and glowing. I reach out for her, but she says, “No, don’t touch me, I’m drenched with sweat.” I don’t actually think I’d mind, but I’m somehow embarrassed to say so. She continues, “I didn’t really think you’d stay this whole time!”

“I have to admit, I spent a lot of the time reading. But I was watching, too. What’s the point of that thing where you wave the stick back and forth when you run?”

“It’s called cradling. It keeps you from losing the ball when you dodge or run into somebody.”

“What are you doing next?”

“I’m going to take a shower, then have tea.”

“Can I walk with you?”

“Sure.”

“Do you want to hold hands?” I figure I’m supposed to ask this kind of stuff now, instead of assuming.

“Not right now. I just need to let some of the heat and energy radiate off of me. But later, yes, I really do like it – usually. And thank you for asking instead of assuming.”

**AGATHA**

Pen hangs out in my room while I shower. It’s not the reason she’s pretending to date me, but I can tell that she likes having a place to be that’s not full of Trixie. I bet she’d love to move in here and let Keris switch into her room. We’re not supposed to buck the Crucible’s pronouncements, but I’ve never been a fan of letting pots and pans or anything else, sentient or non-sentient, decide my life path for me. Look at Simon and Baz – the Crucible stuck them together and they’ve been at each other’s throats ever since.

Well, at the moment they’re holding hands and making nice, but I’m sure that’s just because Penny and I are doing this. I never felt that close to Philippa, and Penny has been my (frequently annoying) friend since our first year at Watford.

And… it seems like she actually heard me when I blew up at her. Like she’s trying to be better. If Simon had been able to do that – had cared to do that – we might still be together. 

**BAZ**

Snow and I go to meet Bunce and Wellbelove in the library. Snow, Bunce, and I are going to discuss our Political Science essay, due next week. I think Wellbelove is going to read fashion magazines. (She has a finely developed sense of style.) (Besides Simon, it’s the main thing we have in common.) And of course we will all engage in competitive dating.

We have a new instructor for Political Science this year, and her approach is very different from her predecessor’s. I knew the Greek roots of the word “kyriarchy”, of course, but I’d never actually heard it used until Professor Sappho’s first lecture. I’ve heard it a lot of times since then, as well as the word “intersectionality.” 

It’s not been a comfortable place for me this year; as far as anyone in the class knows, I’m in the privileged group across every category: cisgender, male, upper class, old money, Old Families, high magic, white-passing. At least now I’m out as queer, which gives me a bit of standing.

“What are you going to write about, Baz?” asks Bunce. 

In my mind I’ve constructed a brilliant essay on the intersection of homophobia and anti-vampirism, but I say, “I want to draw some analogies between the Old families and the Tory Party.”

“That doesn’t really seem like Professor Sappho’s preferred form of analysis. How do you think it will go over?”

“I plan to add in as much structural terminology and analysis as I can. If that’s not enough to please her, that’s too bad. What are you going to write about?”

“Well, I’m biracial, and my dad is low magic. I want to compare my experience in Britain at large with my father’s experience in the World of Mages, and also the intersections of both of those with gender. I’ve been reading Reni Eddo-Lodge on whiteness and she’s just fascinating.” 

Bunce and I are so interested in our conversation that we’ve forgotten to perform our dating roles. Snow pulls us back in by putting his hand on my knee, so Bunce puts her arm around Wellbelove’s shoulder. “I imagine you’re glad not to have to do this essay,” she says to her.

“Oh, if I were taking the class I would probably have something to say about how much feminists sometimes want to dictate women’s lives just as much as the patriarchy does. What are you writing about, Simon?” she asks as she leans into Bunce’s shoulder.

I slide closer to Simon as he starts talking about power structures within the care services system. It sounds like there was a lot of bullying and a strong pecking order among the kids in care, and he’s been in so many different homes by now that he has a lot of examples, some better and some worse. I’ve never really heard him talk about that part of his life before. I link our hands on my thigh and wish that I would somehow have the power to help make his future better than his past.

**PENNY**

For once, Agatha is in my room as I get ready for the morning, rather than the other way around. I overslept, so she came in on her way to breakfast and she’s keeping me company as I throw myself together (no time for a shower today!).

I’m forcing the brush through my uncooperative hair, and I’ll admit it, swearing a little, when she says, “You know, that could be a lot easier.”

“What?”

“Wait here.” She dashes out of the room – that girl can run! – and is back in moments with a spray bottle. “Here, let me.”

I’m a little dazed and honestly still not 100% awake, so I do let her. She takes the brush out of my unresisting hand and spritzes my hair thoroughly with the stuff from the bottle. It has a lightly spicy smell, not too bad.

“This is a leave-in conditioner. Normally you would use it on slightly damp hair, but this is going to work, too.” She spritzes and she brushes and the brush glides easily through my hair. No tugging on my scalp, no sounds of breaking hair. Maybe there’s something to be said for being a shill of the beauty industry. 

Or maybe she was never a shill.

She picks the hair bobble off of my desk, gathers my hair gently in her hands, and pulls it back into a ponytail. When she’s got it fastened, she slides her hand down my neck and lets it rest on my upper back for a moment. 

I like it there. My nape is tingling.

On the way to breakfast she says, “Can I make a suggestion?”

By her tone, it’s one she thinks I may not like, but I’m working on listening to her. “If I don’t have to take it.”

“Like I could force you into anything you don’t want to do! Just, if you would just use a conditioner when you showered you wouldn’t need to rescue your hair like that.”

“My shampoo has conditioner in it. It’s fast and easy, and I like that.”

“So fast and easy that you get stuck struggling with your hair when you’re running late?”

She might have a point.

“Why do you spend all this time learning this stuff?”

“I like it – which you already knew – and besides, it’s part of taking care of my body.”

“Isn’t ‘taking care of my body’ a code for ‘working to appeal to men’?”

“It can be. But it can also mean, you know, taking care of your body. Your hair is a part of your body, and when you force a brush through it with that nasty tearing sound, you’re breaking off pieces of yourself. A tablespoon or two of product could mean you wouldn’t break your body every morning.”

Nicks and Slick. When she puts it that way, it really sounds like a reasonable choice – like the  _ only _ reasonable choice. “I guess I could try it.”

“Let’s meet after lacrosse practice. We can both take our showers then.”

“Why don’t I just come to your practice?”

“If you want,” she replies.

Yes, I want.

**AGATHA**

It’s a good practice. I run hard and score three goals during a brief scrimmage. And the whole time, Penny is in the stands. Reading a book, sure, but I know she’s got an eye on me as well.

Simon never came to a practice or a game in three years of dating.

Afterwards, we walk back to the Cloisters together. We grab our shower things from our rooms and meet in the bathroom. “I love working up a good sweat, but I have to say, I’m eager to wash this off. Shampoo your hair first, so we can leave the conditioner in for a while. Give me a yell when you’ve got the suds rinsed out.”

I let the hot water sluice over me, soothing my hard-used muscles, and in a few minutes I hear Penny say, “Okay.”

I grab my conditioner and head over to the next stall. It’s only when I get there that I realise this means we’re together, naked and wet, in a small space. I try not to let my eyes stray down to her chest. “Turn around.”

She does, and I see her shoulders, pulled forward from a lot of reading and not much stretching, the fold of flesh at her waist, her full hips and plump rear. I tell myself to focus and start applying conditioner. “It’s going to take a little longer the first few times, to really work it through,” I tell her, as I saturate her hair from root to tip and work in a little scalp massage. I run my hands through a few more times, feeling how they can slide more easily with the moist cream surrounding the strands. I touch her shoulder and say, “Leave that in for a few minutes while you finish the rest of your shower, then rinse it out.” 

I get back to my own stall and realise I’ve been holding my breath. That was more intimate than I had counted on. 

In a good way.

**PENNY**

Agatha’s hands feel wonderful on my scalp. I blush a little at having her so close to me, touching me, while we’re both naked. I imagine what it would feel like to turn around, to put my arms around her. Then I remember that that’s not what this is about.

I’m thoughtful as I wash my body and then rinse my hair. Morgana forgive me, but I always thought that Agatha had been brainwashed by Barbie dolls and gendered Legos. That she wasted time on her looks when she could be doing something important. That she ought to prioritise the life of the mind.

That she should be like me.

But isn’t feminism supposed to be about choices? Getting to make choices about our bodies, getting to make choices about our lives?

If I keep that in mind, If I look, really look, at  _ this _ Agatha, who  _ chooses _ to have impeccable hair, who sometimes  _ chooses _ a delicate floral scent, who runs through a pack of opponents cradling the ball like nothing can stop her…

She’s beautiful.

**BAZ**

A few days before Bonfire Night, I’m sitting with Simon in the dining hall, toying with my tea as he finishes his fifth scone, when Miss Possibelf comes over to us. “Simon, dear, could you get us some more wood for the bonfire? We’ve been saving packing crates and so forth, but more is always better, and I think that wild-grown wood lends it something special.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll do that. It’ll be nice to get out to the Wavering Wood again.”

After she leaves us, I say, “I’ll go with you.”

“You will? Why?”

“Well, first of all, we’re dating, and it’s a chance to do something together. And I want to make sure I like the wood you get. I don’t want to have to build a fire with green wood or fungus-rotted logs.” I come from a long line of fire mages and from my first year at Watford I’ve taken the lead in building and lighting the bonfire. By now everyone sees it as my place by right (as they should). So I really do want to have a hand in choosing the fuel. But I’m also very aware that our truce expires in a week and I’d like to seize the chance for some more time with Snow while I can.

“Okay, fine. We might as well go now as any other time.” He picks up his remaining three scones, shoving two into his jacket pockets and the third into his mouth. (His capacity is astonishing, and I sometimes wonder how I ever fell in love with such a barbarian.)

It’s pleasant in the Wood – the air isn’t too cold, and we find some good, sound deadwood that will make excellent fuel. Simon can tell wet from dry, but I have other priorities as well. He picks up one likely-looking log and I say, “Not that, it’ll make nasty, bitter smoke.”

“Well, maybe we should get it in case we need to disperse a crowd.” I laugh, but I don’t let him take the log. Eventually we have so much wood that we can’t carry it all and I have to  **Up, up, and away** it, floating it along in front of us to the Great Lawn, where we leave it beside the packing crates and scrap wood. 

As walk on, Snow says, “You know something?”

“I know a lot of things, but I don’t know what you’ve got on your mind this moment.”

“I was thinking that I like this better than fighting.”

“So do I,” I admit as we cross the drawbridge.

**PENNY**

On Bonfire Night, I meet Agatha at her room, where we get a blanket and a couple of pillows, and we head out to the Great Lawn arm in arm. I enjoy the feel of her against me, the movement of her torso muscles against my forearm. We’re early – it’s just dusk – and there’s still a good choice of spots. We pick one that will have a decent view of the fire but isn’t right up against it – even in November, it’s possible to be too warm. And, well, I might be wanting an excuse to snuggle a little bit. 

This started as an exercise to show Simon that Agatha’s not obligated to him in any way, and that she deserves some appreciation. At this point, we’re all playing a game where we always try to be just a little more demonstrative than the other couple without going over a line. But somehow over the last few weeks I’ve come to actually appreciate Agatha more than I ever have before, and I find myself touching her because I want to, whether Simon is there or not.

We spread out the blanket and sit on our pillows, our knees touching, leaving room for Baz and Simon. Right now they’re arranging the wood, sorting the stockpiles and building what will become the bonfire. Simon’s doing most of the actual work; Baz is standing there and telling him what to do. I would expect Simon to hate that, but the backtalk he’s giving Baz is almost playful. I’m certain that Simon only started dating Baz as a power play, in response to my declaration that I was dating Agatha, but is it possible that it has become something real?

Before too long, Baz is satisfied with the structure. (Honestly, it doesn’t look that different than it did when we arrived.) They both step well back and Baz makes a grand gesture (grander than the task strictly calls for, I suspect) and with a great  _ whoosh _ the bonfire roars to life. A bit of a cheer goes up – the crowd isn’t very big yet – and the guys come over to us. I’m glad they agreed to watch with us – I’ve been missing Simon. I’m not ready to stop dating Agatha (I think the Simon-and-Baz show is very childish, and I don’t want to reward them for it), so that means double dates. Simon hauls over his backpack and starts pulling out food and spreading it out on the blanket. I see sandwiches, scones (of course), and even some fruit – apples and pears.

“Where did you get all that? I didn’t see sandwiches at teatime today,” says Agatha.

“Baz has an in with Cook Pritchard,” Simon replies, waggling his eyebrows mock-suggestively and then looking at Baz with what might be actual fondness. It’s so weird to see that. 

Well, if they can be fond, I can be fonder. “Sweetie, can I get you something?” Agatha gives me a slightly withering glance and then asks for an apple. I polish it on my jumper and hand it to her, trailing my fingers over hers. 

Simon doesn’t offer Baz anything, but then I’ve hardly ever seen Baz eat in public, even now that I see him so much more now that he and Simon are “together”. (Or maybe actually together.) I wonder whether he’s got an eating disorder – he’s certainly concerned about his appearance in a lot of other ways. Or maybe Simon was right all along, and he does have fangs.

**AGATHA**

Soon, students start sending up their best pyrotechnic illusions and effects. Dev starts us off with  **Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds** (a drug reference seems typical of him, honestly). Trixie spreads  **Sweetness and Light** , filling the sky with shining flowers, and then Gareth (with an unseemly hip thrust as usual) gives us  **With Flying Colours** . Baz sends fire arcing high in the air without any wand work or incantation that I can see. I can summon a flame silently too, but nothing so showy. Penny and I lie back on the blanket, heads on pillows, holding hands, to watch the show. 

“Hey, Pen,” says Simon. “Could we borrow a pillow? We were so busy with the wood for the bonfire that we didn’t think of it.”

“You found time to get snacks,” she replies tartly.

“Well, yeah – which we’re sharing with you. C’mon, please?”

Penny touches my check gently, as if to get my attention or just to cherish me for a moment. I can’t help it; it makes me melt a little. “Sure,” I say. “We can share.”

Pen tosses her pillow at Simon and I shift over to make room on mine. After she gets settled, she casts **Castle in the Sky.** A beautiful scene paints itself briefly above us and the grey green scent of fresh sage emanates from her. I inhale deeply. I feel her hair smooth against my cheek as we _oooh_ and _ahhh_ together. With my eyes on the sky I can’t tell quite what the boys are doing. I hear a few grumbles as they negotiate a pillow-sharing arrangement and then they quiet down, so I guess they’ve worked something out.

**BAZ**

The bonfire is roaring along nicely. I get up a few times to feed it, but it’s a sound structure and could keep going for hours without my attention. I just like to take the best care of it I can – any fire goes better with a little TLC. Also, it gives me a break from lying right next to Snow. 

Like so much of these last few weeks, it’s a mixed experience, delightful torture. His scent fills my nostrils – there’s not much of the greenwood element, as he hasn’t done any spell casting since Magic Words class this morning. (And nothing has come close to making him go off – sort of a miracle, given how much of the afternoon we spent together. This truce is really something.) But he’s worked up a good sweat hefting firewood, and that layers salt and a hint of musk onto his usual come-and-get-me breakfast smells of bacon and cinnamon buns. 

I want to eat him, I want to touch him, I want to kiss him – and I want to get as far away from him as possible, because all this delicious closeness is about some kind of competition he’s gotten into with Bunce and Wellbelove and it’s not about me at all. I lie there, feeling his warmth beside me and trying to decide whether this is better or worse than pining for him from a distance when we were fighting all the time.

Each student sends up one or another kind of illusion or light show – except Snow, which is probably just as well. I send up plenty of fire arcs and flame devils and coax some colours and sparks out of the bonfire. After a couple of hours, people start to drift away, and the pace of the show slows and then stumbles to a stop. We four drag ourselves up to sitting, twisting and stretching a bit with tiredness and the desire to unkink our backs. Penny tidies up the crumbs and mess with a quick  **_S_ ** **hipshape and Bristol fashion** . 

Then I see it – she turns to Wellbelove, looks softly into her eyes, and leans in for a kiss – just a peck on the corner of her mouth, nothing intense, but I feel Snow’s attention riveted. His best friend is kissing his ex-girlfriend; he might well have some feelings about that. And I know, I just know, that he’s going to want to make it look like it means nothing to him by kissing me at least as thoroughly – probably more so, since he always wants to raise the stakes. 

And I just won’t have that. Not here, not now, not like this, not for spite or competition. So as he turns towards me I stand up abruptly. I snuff out the bonfire in one go with  **Make a wish** , plunging the lawn into darkness. While everyone’s eyes are adjusting to the moonlight, I say “I’m off to bed. I’ll see you in the room, Snow.” He pulls back and starts messing with the pillow, probably to give it back, but I’m gone and away.

I’d like to go down to the Catacombs and slaughter a few rats – they taste foul, which might at least get the musky-bacon-pastry Eau de Chosen One out of my nostrils – but I said I was going to our room, so that’s what I do.

It’s not long before Snow comes in. He tosses his backpack onto his bed and turns to me, arms crossed. “What was that about, Baz? It was like you couldn’t get out of there quickly enough.”

I’m too tired and too frustrated to do anything but tell him the damned truth, or at least part of it. “I saw Bunce kiss Wellbelove, and I didn’t want to get a copycat kiss.”

“Well, you did promise to put on a show of dating for them. Would a kiss from me be so repulsive that you have to run away from it?”

“Crowley, Snow. I’ve been helping you. We’ve gone on dates, we study together, we eat together and hold hands. And it’s been fine.”

“But kissing wouldn’t be? My lips just disgust you that much?”

“Your lips are not disgusting, although they are a bit chapped and I could recommend a lip balm if you want. But, Aleister Crowley! I don’t want my first kiss to be fake. To be kissed because you have something to prove to your ex, who you can’t let go of, and your best friend, who you’re angry at. I want something better than that, and if I have to wait for it, I will. Someday, someone is going to kiss me because he  _ wants  _ to _ ,  _ not because he has something to prove. So keep your lips away from me.”

Suddenly I don’t want to be anywhere near him. I think I’ll get those rats after all. “I’m going out. Don’t wait up.” 

**SIMON**

Baz pushes past me out the door while I just stand there. That would have been Baz’s first kiss? He’s never kissed anyone? I haven’t seen him with anyone at school, but I just assumed that he had some pretty girl at the Club – or a whole string of them – that he saw during the holidays. Heck, I always suspected that he might have kissed Agatha at some point. But nobody? He’s so fit and elegant, how has he never been kissed?

And… wait. He said, “Someone is going to kiss me because he wants to.” _He._ Is Baz gay?

Merlin’s toenails. Baz is gay.

I’ve spent years being worried that he was going to steal my girlfriend, and he’s gay.

He’s gay, and he’s never been kissed, has probably never had a boyfriend, and I’ve been making him walk all over campus holding my hand, with my arm around him, leaning up against him to study, practically cuddling with him.

I suck.

I mean, I can’t imagine that he would want me, anyway. He’s made no secret of his contempt for me. But this whole “dating” scheme isn’t very fair to him.

**BAZ**

I rush out of the room, sneak over to the White Chapel, and descend to the Catacombs. I drain the life from half a dozen rats. I’ve gotten used to it, more or less. It doesn’t revolt me any more. They don’t taste as good as animals that live in the open woods, but I get by. I tolerate it.

Tonight, though, I disgust myself, tearing into these nasty, dirty, scurrying creatures, swallowing their blood with a mouth that Simon Snow almost kissed. 

Almost. Until I stopped him. Until I ran away.

What would it have been like, if I’d let him? I’ve pressed my mouth to so many animals, to the necks of deer, of squirrels, of hares, of far too many rats. But what would it be like to feel his lips on mine? Soft and pliant, with the illusion of care? I clear the last remnants of blood out of my mouth with my tongue, try to swallow it all down so I’ll be free of these shameful coppery traces.

He’s so full of life. He got my share of it. I have no right to kiss him. And he has no desire to kiss me, anyway, not really. Is it pride or wisdom or folly that propelled me away from him tonight?

I make my way to my mother’s tomb and sag to the ground, leaning against the empty sepulchre. And, as I sometimes do, I talk to her.

“I made a mistake, Mother. Simon Snow asked me to pretend to date him, and I’m weak for him, so I said yes. But I don’t want to pretend. I want it to be real. I want someone to love, someone to love me, and I want it to be him.

“I do love him. I’ve been in love with him for years. And I’ve promised to spend a month going everywhere with him. He holds my hand; he puts his arm around me. I feel him warm against me and I die inside. Die even more.

“What am I going to do?”

I sit there, head thrown back, tears streaking my cheeks, for a long time before I wipe my face with my handkerchief and head back up to Simon.

**SIMON**

I’m half asleep when Baz comes back, but I pull myself back to consciousness when I hear the faint creak of the door. “Baz?”

“For Crowley’s sake, Snow, can’t you have the decency to pretend to be asleep?”

“We can dissolve the oath and stop pretending to date. I’ve realised it’s not fair on you.”

“No, Snow. I’m a Pitch. I keep my promises.” I can’t decide whether he sounds superior or bleak. Probably it’s both.

**AGATHA**

We’re clearing up from our evening watching the fireworks and Penny gives me a peck on the lips. It’s the first time she’s done that, and it takes me a bit by surprise. It’s nice, though. But before I have time to savour it, or even fully process it, Baz abruptly puts out the bonfire and leaves. I can’t see a thing in the sudden darkness.

“What was that about?” Penny asks.

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out,” says Simon, dashing off. I hope he doesn’t get hurt in the dark. 

“Okay, now they’re both acting weird,” says Penny. “I was certain that they were just pretending to date to get to us. Which seemed strange enough, with how they’ve always fought. But that actually seemed like they were having real feelings.” My eyes are adjusting to the moonlight and I see that she’s got her eyebrows bunched up in puzzlement. I put my arms around her. 

“I don’t understand it either. But I’m happy to say that Simon isn’t my problem anymore.”

“I’m still his friend, or I’m supposed to be, even if he’s barely speaking to me these days.” She shakes her head. “I used to think I was so good at this stuff. I had things all settled, I knew who I would be with in the end. Now I feel like I don’t know anything about relationships.” She slumps against me, dropping her head to my shoulder. I sigh and give her a squeeze. She’s so smart and so stubborn, and she can be awfully hard on herself when she’s not solving everyone else’s problems.

“Hey. I think you’re good at relationships.” She huffs out a disbelieving laugh. “No, seriously. I’m enjoying dating you.”

“This isn’t real. It doesn’t count.”

“I didn’t like how you were treating me, and I told you so, and you cleaned up your act. That is A* relationship work. For real.” She shakes her head, and I think she might be crying. I put a hand on the side of her face and stroke my thumb across her cheek. I find wetness there and stroke the other one as well. “Hey now.” I tip her face up. “I know this is really weird timing, but could I kiss you?” She nods, teary but smiling.

And then  _ she _ kisses  _ me _ .

Her lips are soft and sweet; she tastes like apples. I feel alive all the way to the tips of my fingers and toes. And maybe especially between my legs. Kissing Simon was all right, but it never made me feel like  _ this. _

**PENNY**

It’s getting cold, with the bonfire out. (Baz is very good with fire – it’s not embers; it’s stone cold.) We fold up the blanket, grab our pillows, and head back to the Cloisters. I give Agatha one last, lovely, lingering kiss outside the door to her room then wander down the hall to my own. I move more slowly than usual on my way to bed because I’m so full of feelings. I loved the fireworks, as always, and I’m excited at what may be starting with Agatha. I’m sad about the past, about what I thought I had with Micah and maybe never did. And I am so, so sorry for what I did to Simon. Why on earth did I think it was my job to teach him how he should have been treating Agatha, and that pretending to date her was a good way to do it? I lie in bed thinking about all these things, but eventually I fall asleep and dream a private light show just for Agatha and me.

**SIMON**

Baz and I go down to breakfast together, even though I tell him he doesn’t have to. I pile my plate as high as ever; he has a cup of tea. He’ll eat something in the room later. I hope it’s something real and not just crisps and an Aero bar.

Penny and Agatha sit down across from us. They’re holding hands and leaning against each other and cooing a bit. I should be used to all that, but it feels different today. I don’t reach for Baz’s hand, still shamed by the realisation that I’ve been playing with his feelings just to make a stupid point to Penny and Agatha – a point that would probably have been made better by talking than by all this make-believe. Baz is committed to following through on every term of the agreement in full, though, draping one arm across my shoulders while he manages his teacup with the other hand.

At the end of the meal, we’re picking up our bags to head to class when Penny says, “Simon, could I talk to you? Alone?” She glances apologetically at Baz and Agatha. They just shrug their acquiescence and head off together. Once, I would have worried about that. Now I’m certain that I never needed to.

Penny and I duck into an alcove for a bit of privacy. “What’s up?” I ask.

“Oh Simon. I need to apologise. I’ve been pretending to date Agatha. I thought it was for your own good, to show you how a relationship should look, but it’s not my place to do that, especially not by lying to you. I’m so sorry.”

“I kind of knew that. It was a jerk move, but I guess I can believe that you meant well. Thank you for coming clean.”

“Wait. There’s more. Yes, we were pretending, but… I think it’s starting to be real. Maybe. And I really want it to – but I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have.”

I  _ thought _ they looked different together this morning. “That’s going to take some getting used to. But if it’s really going to make you both happy – and if you’re ready to be my friend again, and want to date Agatha for herself and not some stupid lesson for me, I guess I can live with that. I’ve had plenty of practice this past month, after all.” I give her what feels like a very lopsided smile. She gives me a big tight hug that warms me top to toe, then runs off to class.

I head along to class too, but more slowly. With Penny confirming that they were always faking, my using Baz for petty revenge feels worse and worse. I’m going to have to find some way to let him loose from his obligation and make my nastiness up to him somehow. I know you can dissolve a magickal oath with  **No harm, no foul** , but only if both partners agree. Baz seems flat out determined to keep his word. Maybe that means I shouldn’t worry about it and should just ride it out.

And honestly, if I wasn’t feeling guilty about how it may have been for him, I’ve been starting to like touching Baz. I’m always too hot, and he’s nice and cool. And since Agatha and I had broken up, and Penny and I have been in such a weird place, if I wasn’t touching Baz, I wouldn’t have been touching anybody. Baz always smells good, too. Our room in Mummers is the only real home I’ve had, so in a way he smells like home because the room always smells like him. Just, it’s been nice, is what I’m saying.

So if Baz feels like he needs to keep it up, maybe I should let him. It’s only for a few more days anyway. 

**BAZ**

Snow isn’t in my first class – he dropped Latin as soon as the school would let him. He’s not unintelligent (though I’d never admit that to his face), but he’s not much for book learning. The number of times he’s been pulled away from school for “missions” doesn’t help.

My next class is Political Science. Snow is nearly late, and he walks past me to sit on the other side of the room. Well, I’m not having that, so I gather my things and go sit in the other seat at his table. “ _ If _ you are ready for us, Mr. Grimm-Pitch, we will begin,” says Professor Sappho.

Snow looks at me with his jaw jutted out but apparently decides for once not to talk during class. Instead, he scribbles furiously in his notebook and pushes it towards me. His handwriting is a travesty. (I have learnt that this is a result of a “lack of cultural capital” and, while I think our instructor uses far more jargon than necessary, the argument makes sense.) As best as I can puzzle it out, it says:

_ I told you, you don’t have to keep doing this. _

I respond:

**_I committed to a month, and_ ** **_I_ ** **_told_ ** **_you_ ** **_that I keep my promises._ **

_ Penny confessed that it was all a trick. We don’t need to try to get to her anymore. _

**_Well, I’m not stopping until the month is up. Besides, this way I get another week free of your harassment._ **

_ You could have that anyway. You shouldn’t keep having to do something you don’t want to do. _

**_I’m not._ **

At this point Professor Sappho raps on her desk and says “If I could have your attention, gentlemen?” and we stop writing and turn our eyes towards her.

**SIMON**

This has been a very strange week. Well, the whole month has been strange, but this week is a new and different flavour of strange. It’s actually fun to see Agatha and Penny being happy together now that I’m not mad at them, and they’re being cuddly and cute because they want to, not to try to get to me. But Baz hasn’t let up on fulfilling his oath, so I’m still fake dating while my two best friends are just dating.

I get a break from the constant fake boyfriending on Thursday – the Mage takes me to Oxford to deal with an outbreak of bookwyrms at the Bodleian Library. On the way there, he starts out telling me about the mission, and I pay careful attention, but then he meanders off onto the war with the Old Families and my mind drifts. The more time I spend not fighting with Baz, the less I want to fight a war that doesn’t seem necessary. So the Mage and The Old Families don’t agree. That’s what the Coven is for – solving disputes within the World of Mages. So what if the resolutions aren’t always the ones the Mage wants? 

If he wanted me to stay his obedient foot-soldier, maybe he shouldn’t have let me take so many years of Political Science. 

Most of all, I don’t want to fight Baz. Fistfights at school were fine (even though I like being pretend boyfriends better). But if it comes to the field of battle, the kind of battle that the Mage insists is coming, and it comes down to him against me, well, one of us could die. And I don’t want to die – and I don’t want to kill Baz. I’ve killed plenty of Dark things, and some of them have even been sentient. But Baz is a  _ person _ . (Even though he’s a vampire.) He’s kind of becoming my friend. And I would way rather hold his hand than run him through with my sword.

The bookwyrms take hours to deal with. I end up bloody and filthy and there’s a piece of parchment that I’m worried might be important stuck to the bottom of my left shoe. The Mage uses his wand to patch me up and cleans up the worst of the mess, and then we start the drive back to Watford through the dark. My thoughts turn to Baz again, and this time I wonder why he has insisted on continuing to “date”. Is being true to his word really that important? Or is something else going on here? I won’t say I’m not enjoying it, because it does kind of feel nice to be cuddled and have my hand held when I’m not feeling guilty about it. Doing little favours for each other is a lot better than fighting. 

What did he mean when he wrote in his notebook  _ I’m not,  _ after I wrote  _ You shouldn’t keep having to do something you don’t want to do _ ? Why has he had that odd note in his voice in so many of his comments over the past three weeks? Even if it’s a matter of his sacred word as a Pitch, he’s been doing more than he needs to this week. Yesterday he actually ran his fingers through my hair a little bit while we were sitting in the library.

Does he actually _ like _ touching me? If he does, then why did he douse the bonfire and scarper when he thought I was going to kiss him?

_ Oh _ .

He didn’t say he didn’t want me to kiss him.

He said he didn’t want a fake kiss.

Those are not the same thing at all.

And that means I need to think about what  _ I _ want.

**BAZ**

It’s been a strange week. I could get Snow to dissolve our oath at any moment, He’d clearly be more comfortable that way. And for the side of this which is torture – the side where I know that he doesn’t want to be touching me, that it was only ever to plague Bunce and Wellbelove that he tolerated it – I’d be happy to be done. In fact, I’m a heel for continuing. But from the side which is precious, tenuous, evanescent delight – the side where this is the only time I will ever get to touch him without violence – I can’t bring myself to stop, even though it would be the honourable thing.

We’re no longer driven by a need to one-up the others, which is just as well, because there is no way that our acting skills are up to matching the level of doe-eyes they are giving each other. For the first day after he offered to terminate our oath all the touching came from me – he let me do it but didn’t initiate anything. Then he relented a little, and has been touching me back some. Sometimes.

With only 3 days left of our month, I lose an entire day of Simon. The Mage sent him a bird first thing in the morning, and he had to go off on yet another mission. I had been planning to try putting my hand on his leg in Political Science. 

He finally comes back well past dark, dragging himself slowly up the stairs. He looks worn out and his uniform is torn in several places.

“What happened to you?”

“Bookwyrms.” 

I shudder. I’ve never seen one, but I’ve heard stories about the time they got into the Watford library – that was in my great-grandfather’s time.

“Baz, can we talk?”

“Evidently, yes.”

“Tosser.” He sits heavily on his bed. “Listen to me, because this is important. And I’ve been thinking out what to say all the way back from Oxford. I’m not great with words, so could you please not interrupt?”

“Fine.”

**SIMON**

Baz has turned his chair to face me and is looking at me levelly with those storm-grey eyes. His hair is loose around his face, and I want to touch it. I realise that I’ve thought about that before. That there’s a whole list in my mind of things I want to do, only some of which we’ve gotten to this month.

“Could you come sit next to me?”

He looks very wary at that, but complies, something he’d never have done before our truce.

I take a deep breath, let it out slowly, try to stay calm, even though I’m tired and excited and anxious about what his answer will be. I can’t get myself to look at him. I lean my forearms on my thighs and look down at the floor between my feet.

“So, like, on Bonfire Night. You said… you said that someday, someone would kiss you because he wanted to. And that was what you were waiting for.” He stirs but doesn’t say anything. I take another deep breath. “What if today was someday? And what if someone was me?”

“No thank you. You obviously feel guilty about our arrangement and I don’t want an  _ I’m sorry _ kiss any more than I wanted a  _ fuck you, Bunce _ kiss.”

That does it. I sit up and look at him. He’s sitting ramrod straight, arms folded, looking straight ahead. His body language couldn’t be more closed if he used a padlock.

“You don’t get it, Baz. Please look at me.” He does, fiercely. “I’m not offering an  _ I’m sorry  _ kiss. What about a  _ you’re gorgeous _ kiss? An  _ I’m obsessed with you _ kiss? An  _ I like touching you _ kiss? A…”

And then  _ he _ kisses  _ me. _

**PENNY**

Agatha and I are sitting at breakfast when Baz and Simon come in, holding hands as usual. They look very tired and a bit rumpled – Morgana, even  _ Baz _ looks rumpled. They fetch their usual breakfasts – a mountain of scones plus bacon and eggs for Simon, and a cup of tea for Baz. They sit down across from us, pulling their chairs as close together as they will go and then – Nicks and Slick! – they kiss each other on the lips before they start eating. “You know,” I say, “you can stop trying to impress us or outdo us.”

Simon says, “We know” at the same time that Baz says, “We’re not.”

Everything is starting to make sense.

**EPILOGUE**

**AGATHA**

It’s another Bonfire Night, and here we four are, together again, sharing a blanket under a light show in the sky. This time, though, we’re at an athletic field in London, not the Great Lawn, and the show is of Normal fireworks. Baz and Penny are sniffing a bit at the more limited range of effects (I have to admit, Normals still can’t do anything like Penny’s  **Castle in the air** ) but actually they’re oohing and ahhing as much as Simon and I are.

And this time, nobody is angry at anybody. Nobody is going to run off to avoid being kissed – in fact, there’s a fair amount of kissing and cuddling going on at both ends of the blanket. At the end of the evening, Penny and I will go back to the flat we share near Queen Mary University of London, where she’s studying linguistics. I’m taking a gap year and working at Indulge Beauty. My parents are appalled; Penny is, well, indulgent.

The guys will go home to their flat near LSE where Baz studies Business and Management. Honestly, I think he’d be happier with music or English, but it’s his life. Or un-life – Simon persuaded him to come out to us about being a vampire as well as about being gay. Simon is working part-time in a bakery and going to culinary school (he brought scones tonight and they were terrific).

This isn’t the future any of us imagined. A year and a half ago, I was resigned to marrying Simon, he was seeing me as the one good thing he could have someday, Penny was “dating” a boy she hadn’t seen in years, and Baz thought he would be alone forever.

This is better than that. A lot better.

I still don’t believe in happy ever after, but I am definitely happy right now.

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to [@Gampyre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gampyre) for beta reading, [@OtherWorldsIveLivedIn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/otherworldsivelivedin) for Brit picking, and [@cmere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmere) for being a sounding board and cheerleader when I was mired in the Slough of I Can't Possibly Write This.


End file.
